


Kristin Chenoweth, Girl Detective

by clementine (jeanniebee)



Category: Broadway RPF, Chenzel - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Wicked RPF
Genre: F/F, Roleplay, chenzel, love bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:31:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanniebee/pseuds/clementine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristin plays detective – and gets in trouble.</p>
<p>No mystery where this is going.</p>
<p>A sequel (of sorts) to <i><b><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4592094">F'k'in Weird</a></b></i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kristin Chenoweth, Girl Detective

**Author's Note:**

> The timing is in between the New York closure of _If/Then_ and the start of Idina's world tour.

Kristin approached the apartment entrance with a combination of anticipation _and_ trepidation. Her back flat against the wall in the hallway, she grasped the knob and gingerly cracked the door open. Greeted only by darkness, she continued to gently push, priming herself to beat a hasty retreat upon the first evidence of detection. She slipped her head through the opening as soon as practical. That action was a little more difficult and awkward than usual as she was wearing a neck brace, although this was one of the smaller and less ostentatious ones. The apartment was largely dark, but light eminated from the kitchen, with voices engaged in conversation. She quickly slid through the crevice she created and quietly closed the door, grimacing when it still made an audible noise. 

The voices were indeterminable, but she knew they were connected with the case she was investigating. She pulled off her shoes, and tip toed across the floor in her bare feet. Not only did she need to be as quiet as possible as she attempted to eavesdrop, but if she needed to make a swift exit, it would be easier without the heels, which were now dangling from two fingers on her right hand. 

When she reached the wall separating her from the voices, they suddenly stopped. _Shit!_ Had they still heard her regardless of her precautions? Or were they simply done with their conversation? If the latter, they would likely leave the kitchen and stumble upon her anyway. Discretion being the better part of valor, maybe this would be best to pursue another day. But, before she took her second step toward the exit, the lights snapped on and a loud, smoky voice called after her in a tone dripping with sarcasm, contempt, and more than a little moustache-twirling melodrama. 

“ _Well, well, well_ , if it isn’t Nancy Fucking Drew, Girl Detective.” 

Kristin stopped and turned around slowly, not certain whether she should bolt for the door or hurl herself at her antagonist. The question was quickly answered when she saw the small firearm in the left hand of an – interestingly dressed woman. Her long, dark, wavy hair was topped by a brown, wide-brimmed women’s fedora with a colorful red band and feathers. She wore elbow length black evening gloves, thick red lipstick, a tight, bare-shouldered strapless hip-hugging fire engine red dress that left absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination, and black open backed sandals with heels. The color on the toenails matched the dress and the hat band. Kristin’s jaw dropped, her eyes widened, and then narrowed as she looked upon the woman with a certain amount of disbelief. All that was missing from her ensemble was a long cigarette holder with a smoking butt at the end, and maybe a feather boa. 

_What the - ?_

The dark haired woman reacted to Kristin’s expression with a quizzical look, but Kristin returned to the moment and responded. 

“ _Well, well, well_ , if it isn’t the Queen of Vulgaria herself.” Kristin bit off the words smartly, mimicking the other woman's delivery. 

“Oh, funny, funny girl. You’re _always_ the one with the snappy comebacks, eh, Pixie? Don’t quit your day job.” 

“I should have known you’d be involved with this.” 

“Of course you should have known! I control everything that goes on in this area along the entire Northeastern Seaboard! But then again, since you’re blonde I need to cut you a _lot_ of slack in the smarts department.” 

She turned back and yelled into the room “Go ahead and take the shipment, boys.” Her attention returning to Kristin, she smiled. “I’ve got some play time coming up.” 

Kristin started toward the door when the woman briefly re-focused on her minions, but the brunette caught that movement out of the corner of her eye, quickly raised her gun and returned her full attention to the petite blonde. 

“Ah ah ah - sit down, Pixie!” She motioned with the firearm to a nearby chair. “And put your arms on the rests!” She slowly closed the gap between herself and Kristin, continually motioning toward the chair until the blonde hesitantly sat down, dropped her shoes to the floor, and placed her arms on top of the rests. 

"What do you plan on doing to me?" 

"And what makes you think I owe you an answer? You don't call, you don't write, yet you just walk in without an invitation and start eavesdropping on my conversations. You're _very_ inconsiderate." 

With her weapon still pointed at Kristin, the woman backed into a dresser, and after opening one of the drawers pulled out several strands of rope. "All the way back in that chair, Pixie..."

Kristin had originally sat at the edge of the chair, so that her feet could still touch the floor. She grimaced as the woman ordered her to sit against the back, as now her feet dangled off the floor. Even at a moment like this, it still stung to be reminded of her diminutive stature.

The woman quickly tied each of Kristin's wrists to a separate arm rest. After that, she placed her gun on the dresser, and stood in front of her prisoner, hands on her hips, elbows bent, adapting a self-satisfied haughty air. 

”You thought you'd be _sooooo_ fucking smart, didn't you?” 

“You’ll never get away with this.” 

“Oh, I've been getting away with it for years, long before you came on the scene. I always get what I want. And guess what I want _now_ , little girl?" 

She bent over and held Kristin’s face in her hands, pressing her lips hard against the blonde’s. Kristin mmphed in protest and refrained from returning the kiss. She tried to move her head to break her captor's grip, but was held fast. 

“C’mon, Pixie,” the woman said disappointingly as she separated from Kristin, continuing to hold her face only a couple of inches from her own. “You don’t want me to torture you to get what I want." She then smiled widely " _Or do you_?” 

"Do your worst, _bitch_ ," Kristin said quietly, but with steely defiance. Even within that tone, however, were traces of her resistance crumbling. Her eyes closed and her lower jaw quivered as she was overwhelmed by a multitude of scents - perfume, body wash, breath freshener, hair spray. 

"Don't mind if I do," said the other woman gladly, and forced her lips onto Kristin's again, this time harder. The blonde squealed and mmphed out a "No!" but after several seconds, found herself reluctantly returning the kiss. She had known this woman for years, engaged in numerous bitter confrontations with her over that time. But although they were opposites in so many ways, Kristin had ultimately always been unable to resist her, having long been drawn to her in an almost feral manner. 

If she didn't know better, when her captor pulled away, she actually purred, whispering "Look at me." Kristin squeezed her eyes tighter, whimpered and shook her head.

"Do it! I want to see those eyes of yours - those big, beautiful blue eyes!" The woman said more forcefully, gripping Kristin's face tighter, and then, still unsucccessful in getting the smaller woman to comply, smashed her lips against her captive's a third time. Kristin whimpered again and resisted, but the brunette's power and force of will finally compromised her. First her eyes opened, and then her mouth, however slightly. But that was all the woman needed to drive her tongue through the small gap between Kristin's lips, seeking its counterpart, engaging in battle with it until she herself needed to breathe again. Separating from a gasping Kristin, she smiled. 

"And I was _soooooo_ looking forward to the torture," she whispered. "But I'm not complaining...much," she said while chortling slightly. 

Kristin began to jerk on the bonds that held her wrists to the chair, breathing heavily, and replied through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to let you do this. I'm _not_ going to give you the satisfaction. _Do you hear me_?" 

"You don't have a choice! _I'm_ the one calling the shots here!" The brunette stood back up and returned to the dresser drawer from where she had retrieved the ropes, coming back with a small wadded cloth and a long, wide, soft strip of black fabric. 

"What are you going to do with those?" Kristin asked, knowing the answer before she finished asking the question. "NO! Don't gag me, don't - mmmpppph!" The woman stuffed the wad between Kristin's lips and pushed it into her mouth. She then wrapped the fabric around the blonde's head several times before securely, but carefully, knotting it at the back so as not to entangle any hair or cause any real pain. 

The woman leaned down and whispered into one of Kristin's ears. “Thank you for reminding me that _hearing_ your voice is the last thing I want right now. This is actually one of my favorite parts because now I get to do _all_ of the talking. And a black gag contrasts nicely with your white brace. Speaking of that brace, I guess you’re always sticking your neck where it doesn’t belong, eh, Pixie?” 

Kristin groaned, rolled her eyes and gently shook her head. _You are so bad at this._

Once Kristin was gagged, the woman peeled off her evening gloves, placing them and her hat on the dresser, and walked directly behind her captive again. Kneeling down, she blew gently into Kristin's right ear, licking along the soft outer edge, then the cartilage, and ended by nibbling on the lobe. Kristin shuddered as the process was repeated with the left ear, and then the woman's hands reached over her chest and began to undo the buttons of her blouse. The initial mmphs of protest were soon replaced by soft moans as the top of her blouse was pulled down over her shoulders, and her captor proceeded to dot each collarbone from the bottom of the neck brace to the shoulder with soft kisses. 

The brunette then slipped her hands under each cup, gently squeezing and caressing the breasts that even in an unaroused state the bra could barely restrain, rolling the hardening nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” she moaned just outside Kristin’s ear as the fondling intensified. Kristin released another squeal, and a series of heavy breaths within the confines of her gag, which became warm and damp as the air from the breaths condensed and she began to drool. 

After grabbing another strand of rope from the several now on the floor, the woman tied Kristin's chest to the back of the chair, knotting the rope just below her breasts. As the rope was cotton it did not irritate Kristin’s exposed skin. 

She knelt on the floor in front of her prisoner and gazed into her eyes. Her own jaw quivered as she beheld them and reached to caress Kristin's cheek. "Your eyes are so beautiful, so hypnotic," she murmured. As Kristin was gagged, her eyes were now her primary means of communication with her captor, and they seemed to become even more alive and sparkle brighter than before. Rather than fear or anger in them, there was only want. Kristin’s hands were open, as if they were desperate to grab onto something, and she began to grind her hips in response to the need for touch. With both of her own hands, the woman grasped the bottom of Kristin’s skirt and slowly pulled it off, letting it gently glide over her knees and down her legs before whipping it off entirely and tossing it aside with a dramatic flair. A similar tact was taken with the panties, leaving Kristin naked from the waste down. 

"Oh my," the woman said, marveling at Kristin's unveiling, her voice wavering as she placed her left hand on Kristin's right thigh and slowly began to move toward the core. Kristin began to grow wet in anticipation, but the woman stopped her hand just outside the folds and smiled. "Not just yet, Pixie." 

She turned her attention to binding Kristin's legs. But first, she took each small foot into her hands and gently massaged the top, heel and sole for a moment. She heard muffled groans slip from underneath Kristin's gag as she did this, and placed a soft kiss on top of the little pink painted toes before tying each ankle to a chair leg. She then lashed each of Kristin's thighs above the knees to the top of the chair legs just under the seat. 

“What are you doing?” Kristin tried to ask. The question came out more as a series of mmphs than words, but her captor understood. 

“Just making sure the store stays open for business,” she whispered as she leaned foward and blew gently onto Kristin's core, resulting in another shriek. 

The brunette began to kiss and lick Kristin's thighs, starting near the knee, and moving ever so closer to the center. The blonde shuddered and in reaction to the stimulation, instinctively tried to pull her legs closer together, but to no avail. Tauntingly, the woman's kisses stopped just short of the core, skipped over it, and then proceeded down the other thigh. 

Kristin protested as loudly as the gag would allow, pulling against all of her bonds, noting just how limited her movement was due to the strategic placement of the ropes. As her center grew wetter, she became increasingly frustrated in how very little lift and movement she could make with it. She groaned and shook the chair, unable to obtain the release she craved. 

The woman stood back up and re-treated a couple of steps. She slipped out of her sandals and kicked them aside, then unzipped the dress in the back and let it fall slowly to the floor. That she hadn't been wearing a bra the entire time was no surprise, and after stepping out of her panties, she dangled them in Kristin's face, gently brushing them back and forth across her nose and eyes before dropping them on the floor. 

“See anything you like?” she asked as she struck a pose. 

The petite blonde whimpered. Those shoulders, those arms, those breasts, those abs, that ass, those thighs. The woman obviously had an effective exercise regimen, and her finely-toned body was the reward for those efforts. It would be Kristin’s reward as well _if she could only get closer to it!_ She clenched her fists in frustration as she desperately wanted to bury her face somewhere within the woman and breathe in all of the disparate scents. It was simply impossible not to be intoxicated with her, although she was supposed to be her mortal enemy. Everything about her resonated strength, power, and unbridled passion and Kristin ferociously wanted her. 

But she couldn’t fucking move! She tried to jerk the chair she was bound to closer to the object of her desire, but had no leverage. 

The woman then turned around and edged her backside closer to Kristin, who opened her fists in an attempt to reach for the cheeks – and then the mood was broken. 

“I ought to let out a big fart right here.”

And then there was _that_ about her. Kristin rolled her eyes and mumbled. If it wasn’t the overblown dialogue it was the off the cuff one-liners. Honestly, this woman needed a script and a director to make her stick to it. 

Sensing she needed to move quickly to regain the momentum, the brunette faced Kristin again, and reached behind her to unfasten her bra. After pulling each cup down, she knelt and leaned into Kristin’s chest, alternatively taking each breast into her mouth, sucking on them, then licking in circles around each nipple before gnawing and pulling on them with her teeth. Kristin moaned as loudly as her gag would permit. 

The woman stood back up and leaned over the chair again, allowing her own breasts to hang in front of Kristin, who tried to reach them with an open hand, hoping the bonds would slacken enough to allow her to at least _touch_ them, but she was too securely fastened. She tried to scream in frustration but of course the gag was an effective muffler. 

“Does baby want a taste?” 

Kristin nodded and mmphed, glaring angrily at her captor for continuing to torment her. 

“How badly?” 

The glare intensified, and the mmphs became a loud, muffled growl.

“Now, if I take that gag off, you’d better not scream. One peep, and I use duct tape next, and I know how much you _love_ duct tape.” 

After Kristin nodded, the cloth was untied and packing pulled out. As her captor held them up for her, she latched onto one of the breasts as if she were a starving infant, sucking and biting with the desperation of knowing her access could end at any moment. The woman arched back, closed her eyes and let out a strangled cry in reaction to the sudden, intense contact. In retribution for the torment, Kristin was going to leave as many marks as she could on each of those luscious mounds as she alternated between the two. 

When the woman finally pulled away, Kristin was breathing heavily, her bottom jaw trembling, demanding more. The woman herself swallowed hard, her eyes similarly wide open, and she took a couple of deep breaths before reaching for the small packing cloth and the black wraparound gag. 

“No!” Kristin cried out. “Please! Don’t gag me again. I won’t call for help. I promise.” 

“Oh, it’s not you calling for help I’m worried about, Pixie. It’s you being too noisy when I make you come.” 

“You are so arro-mmmppph!” Her captor stuffed the cloth back in her mouth and rewrapped and refastened the gag. 

The woman dropped to her knees and began to rub Kristin’s inner thighs, getting close to the core, but keeping distant enough to intensify the anxiety. Finally, she put her face into Kristin's center and her tongue found everything necessary to send Kristin into a state of delirious ecstasy as it rolled around, with the occassional sucking and biting. The little blonde was now grateful she had the foresight to wear her brace before the evening started, as without it, her head would have flung back, and caused unnecessary pain and irritation to her neck. Her next impulse was to grab a fistful of the woman’s hair, but of course, with her wrists tied to the chair arms, she couldn’t. Her legs reflexively tried to close, but the woman’s earlier precautions precluded that from happening as well. Her hands opened and closed, frustrated they had nothing to grab onto. The fact that she was unable to move ramped up the excitement and made her even more determined to do so. She rocked the chair side to side as the tongue inside her continued to draw her closer to orgasm.

Then, without warning, the tongue departed and two fingers were thrust into her. Kristin’s eyes opened wide and she squealed. She jerked back in the chair and brought her center up as much as her bindings allowed as the fingers clawed within her walls, succeeding in their task. After she let loose with a loud, muffled cry, she sagged in the chair, several moments passing before her fierce panting to return to a normal breathing pattern. 

The other woman sat down upon the floor, and exhaled loudly. Although not as physically drained as she had no restraints to fight against, she was as emotionally depleted as her prisoner. But when she looked upon Kristin, she couldn’t help but notice once again how the gag magnified the expressiveness of those eyes, which were now talking to her. 

“More? Really? You didn't get enough?” 

The blonde didn’t even have to nod – the eyes said it all. 

“With pleasure. After all, who am I to refuse the needs of such an alluring captive?” 

  


Much later, exhausted, her eyes closed, breathing heavily against her gag, which was becoming warmer and wetter, Kristin’s head hung down slightly, as much as the brace would allow it to drop. Her captor had finally finished with her and was pulling her own underwear back on. 

“Well, _that_ was fun,” she said with a large, satisfied smile in between her own gasps for breath. “But you are so obviously done for the night. What do I do with you now?” she asked as she looked directly into Kristin’s wearily opening eyes. 

“Let me go,” came a quiet, muffled response. "Please." 

“Hmm,” the woman thought as she stood up, tapping her lips with her finger, shifting her eyes back and forth, pondering her alternatives. 

“I _could_ do that, I suppose. But after such an exciting evening, just letting you walk out of here seems _so_ anti-climactic. We really need to end the evening with a bang. And I have just the idea!” She briefly disappeared into the kitchen and upon her return, carried a small box with a timer on top. Placing it on the dresser, she set the timer. 

Hearing a beep, Kristin snapped to full attention and looked wide-eyed at the dresser as the woman gathered the rest of her clothing and shoes that were scattered across the floor. 

“Fifteen minutes, Pixie, before you become part of your own fireworks show. My personal opinion is that you do not have what it takes to get free. I hope you prove me wrong...I doubt you will.” She cackled loudly as she walked out the door. “Don’t you wanna be evil, like me, don’t you wanna be mean….”

“No! Let me go!” came the desperate, muffled cries, followed by anguished calls for help.

Realizing after a frantic moment that she couldn't rely on an outside rescue, she began several minutes of frantic shifting, pulling, stretching, rocking and wrestling. Finally, she was finally able to create enough play in the knots to slip one of her wrists out of its bonds. She hurriedly untied the other wrist, then unknotted the rope around her waist, freed her thighs, and then moved on to her ankles. However, as she reached for the last ankle, the timer counted down to zero and beeped repeatedly. She sat back up, yanked down the cloth tied around her mouth and head, pulled the packing out of her mouth and hurled it to the floor. 

_“Shit!”_ she yelled. “Shit, shit, shitballers!” She crossed her arms and sat back in the chair, frowning and disgusted, without even bothering to untie her last ankle. 

Idina padded in, clad in her bathrobe, after having quickly wiped off the garish red lipstick and make-up, her hair pulled back into a unkempt bun. 

“Looks like you’re dead again,” she said nonchalantly as she picked up the kitchen timer and turned it off before placing it back on the dresser. “Good thing you decided to be a singer because you would’ve seriously _sucked_ as a real detective. Still, that was _sooooo_ fucking hot watching you struggle and listening to those little high pitched squeals and squeaks and cries for help. That was worth a self-induced job right there.” 

“You could put a little more slack in those ropes ya know, to make it more fair.” 

“Oh yeah. Just like you always do for _me_. Uh huh. What kind of bad guy would I be if I made it easy for the hero to escape my death trap?” 

“Well, do me a favor and untie my other leg so I don’t have to move my neck and back anymore, OK?” 

“Since when does the damsel in distress dictate terms?” 

“Since I'm still thinkin' about what I'm going to do to _you_ during my next turn and the longer I sit here the nastier it gets.” 

“Hmm. Good point.” 

  


The evening's conclusion was far more mundane, as it often was for couples preparing for bed, as the two quietly sat, legs under the covers, each bespectacled, reading. Idina had a laptop open researching South Korea, the first stop on her upcoming tour, and Kristin was reviewing the stage manager’s notes from the most recent performance of _On the Twentieth Century_ , scribbling her own observations in the margins. 

“Ugh – can’t look at that fucking computer screen anymore,” Idina said, removing her glasses, turning off the laptop, placing it on her nightstand and rubbing her eyes. “You about done there? I need to go to sleep. I’ve got to pick Walker up early tomorrow morning and I want to take him out for breakfast before school.” 

“Eh, gimme another couple of minutes to go over this last page.” 

“Can I see that book again? The one where you got the idea for tonight?” 

Kristin reached over to the nightstand on her side of the bed, opened the drawer and pulled out a small hardbound book with yellow lettering reading _Nancy Drew Mystery Stories_ , atop larger, bold white print that spelled out the title _The Mystery at Lilac Inn_. The dust jacket featured a wide-eyed young girl with an early 50’s hairstyle eavesdropping on what most certainly had to be a notorious group of criminals huddled around a kitchen table discussing some diabolical plan. 

“How old is this thing? It reeks like you've been keeping it in a musty basement back in Oklahoma.” Idina crinkled her nose, noting the distinct smell of aged and deteriorating paper. She opened the page to the inside art of a woman standing over a bound and gagged Nancy Drew sneering “You thought you’d be smart, didn’t you?” and after perusing through a few pages, returned it to Kristin. 

“I dunno how old it is. It was actually my mom’s. Look at the copyright notice and the number of printings. It’s gotta be at least 60 years old. I read the more modern versions growing up, but it’s interesting to read the old ones for all of the anachronisms. In their own way, they’re like artifacts of how people casually thought and talked during the 30’s and 40’s. Speaking of the 30's and 40's, what was with that get-up? I had _no_ idea you were going to look like you stepped out of a film noir. I about shit my panties when I saw you." 

“I was trying to get into the role. I saw a picture of Veronica Lake in a hat from that time period and thought it would be a cool look. You didn't like it?" 

"I didn't say that. But sometimes you need to give me a little heads up so I don't blow the whole thing by either laughing, or tackling and tying _you_ up instead."

"“Queen of Vulgaria” was a nice bit – but you should've given me a name like Baroness Von Fuckinstumpf, or something to go along with it.” 

“The Queen of Vulgaria thing literally just popped into my head after you said Nancy Fucking Drew, and that seemed appropriate considering _your_ nasty old mouth. Are you gonna talk like that during your tour with all those little girls in Elsa dresses and tiaras in the crowd?” 

“Uh, yeah, that’s something I’m going to have to work out. Maybe I’ll just give the moms in the audience a heads up to cover their ears before I start working blue.” 

“And what was with the cackling? Were you trying to channel Elphaba again? _And stealing my song_? I should never have let you listen to that demo.” 

“I was the villain! Villains have to have sinister laughs and cackles! _You_ cackle at the end of that song!” 

“Yeah, but _you_ sounded like a dying rooster. Speaking of being the villain, you have _really_ got to work on your taunting dialogue. Swiping Madam Morrible’s lines? And good lord, that neck joke was awful.” 

“What the - ? Am I sleeping with Michael Riedel? If I wanted criticism of my acting I’d read the fucking _Post_! Are you done? Because I am! Goodnight, Kris.” Idina harrumphed, rolled over away from Kristin and turned off her bedside light. 

“OK. Goodnight, Dee. And I still love you, even when you're acting like a spoiled, nasty, thin-skinned little diva.” 

Idina only harrumphed again in response, too tired to tell Kristin to hold up a fucking mirror when she said things like that. 

  


As per usual, often due to her sleep issues, Kristin was already up and moving about well before Idina. For the last two hours she had been sitting on the couch in the living room, using her phone to update her Twitter feed, retweeting pictures and sayings she found amusing, providing fans with dressing room photos, and a shot of Maddie which she found totes adorbs (as all such shots were, of course). She did make time to do one other thing, however. 

As she raised a glass of soda to her lips, the rumbling, stumbling, profanities and slammed door she heard all meant Idina had finally risen and staggered into the bathroom. 

_Wait for it._

“What the – _what the fuck!_ ” came a loud, pained shout from the bathroom. “What did you put on the seat? Oh shit! You’re dead meat Kristi Dawn Chenoweth! You hear me? _DEAD MEAT!”_

“And **THAT’s** for stickin’ it in my face last night and threatening to fart when I was tied up and couldn't move! Let that be a lesson to you - and your little booty, too!” 

As the stream of curses continued, Kristin smiled and began to hum _Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day..._

**Author's Note:**

> Kristin has stated during interviews her childhood hero was Nancy Drew, and her dream/alternative job if she wasn't a performer was private investigator. Although not a fan myself, my mother loved Nancy Drew growing up and owned dozens of the books, which helped feed her life-long interest in mysteries and crime stories. Of course, particularly in the earlier printings, Nancy was always getting tied up. 
> 
> I’m leaving it to the reader’s imagination what Kristin put on the seat.
> 
> I guess you write what you want to read. Too often in these kind of stories, people inflict pain or cruelty on each other, which I have no interest in reading, particularly not using real people as subjects for. I just wanted a story with a playful, loving couple in 100% consensual activities. Guess I’m weird that way - or just boring.


End file.
